Sherlock's Return
by ADream4you
Summary: The return of sherlock after his seemingly untimely death


John climbed up the flight of stairs out of breath. As he came up into the flat, he caught sight of his once deceased friend. His friend who thankfully would not rip the place apart in his moments of boredom.

"Are you okay Sherlock? You just told Lestrade a few hours ago to piss off in so many words." John looked at the tall thin robe clad figure draped over the couch. The iconic smiley face, the bullets and all, embedded in the wallpaper behind him. It used to be a pretty wall. Sherlock was not a happy camper when bored; he should hide the gun from Sherlock next time. God how he missed this genius man although he could sometimes be a prick. There was a decapitated hand in the refrigerator now and a microscope mysteriously crushed the remote for the new telly he had saved up for, everything was back to normal.

"Three undetected murders in one year since I was gone, Lestrade. You handled the Molesey Mystery with less than your usual —Bravo. Now don't you have something to attend too. Sherlock looked confused. "I was complementing him; I should think that was evident."

"Sure didn't sound like it." John sat down in the chair across from Sherlock. It was good to have him back even though he was pretty sure the occasional insult would make its way into the conversation.

"What does your kind do for fun?" Sooner than expected John contemplated. _My kind_, Sherlock grabbed the stress ball next to him on the table and began to throw it continuously at the ceiling.

"_My kind_…..you know what never mind." John felt a little cross at the insult but he was too distracted to really much care at this point. He felt his fingers digging harder into the arm of the chair, he would swallow his pride because his friend was back and that's all that mattered at the moment. Besides his mind yearned for the adventure another case might bring.

"I didn't mean it like that John." Sherlock turned to look at him his curly auburn hair slightly blocking his eye. "I'm sorry."

John just starred at Sherlock in utter disbelief. Did he just apologize; well that was a new one. Shaking his head and shrugging, John decided he would continue the conversation passed the awkwardness that was Sherlock's apology.

"By the way your brother just called me outside. Why is your brother calling me? He knows you're alive…..."

"Point being." Sherlock abruptly replied while rubbing his fingers together still slumped on the couch. The gray stress ball now lying on his chest keeping rhythm has he breathed.

"Well apparently a diplomat has been murdered; some foreign hostility issue may arise. He said wait for the car outside and ….oh yes please come dressed."

"Well if he puts it like that, what makes him think I'm going to come. I'm busy coming back to the land of the living and all. I got important things to attend too" Sherlock flipped around to face the wall again, the ball dropped and rolled along the grooves of the floor.

"Like what spending your day on the couch." John stood up and walked over to the long black wool coat hanging by the door. "Come on we're going." John tossed the coat onto Sherlock's back, accidentally covering his face in the process. "Aren't you always saying you're bored, and to give you a case."

"Fine." Sherlock bolted up, the robe flapping in the air and entangling his arms, flinging the coat onto the floor. John walked to the door motioning for the stunned consulting detective to follow him. He was pleased to see that Sherlock was fully dressed under the robe and not stark naked, didn't want to go through that again. Sherlock followed John's eyes and he saw that he was giving him the once over, like a spot check.

"And your shoes." John pointed to Sherlock's bare feet.

"Is that really necessary" Sherlock retorted.

"I'm sure the two of you can play nice, after all he hasn't seen you in a year."

John smiled as he waited for Sherlock to gain his composure and hoped his air of arrogance would clear in time before they came in contact with Mycroft.

_**One Week Prior**_

**John Watson's blog**

_I am sad to report the untimely passing of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, my best friend and colleague. I am sure most of my readers are aware of his untimely passing. I want to make it clear he was never a fraud, never a fake. I will certainly not allow his name to go down in shame. This is the last entry of this blog for I find I no longer have the heart to update. So I thank you all for your attention and to those of you who have supported Sherlock Holmes. _

_I believe in Sherlock_

_-J_

John got up from his laptop and grabbed his blue plaid jacket. Sherlock Holmes, how boring was life without you, in an odd way he missed being ordered around by his serious and lean housemate. He had left the flat for a period of time, in hopes to escape the illustrious 221B baker street fame. Harriet, his sister, wasn't much of a cheer up and he found her couch to be oddly lumpy in the past months. Time had passed, ticking towards infinity. Cramps in his leg had begun to flare up, the limp had returned. Now he was back with Mrs. Hudson in the place it all started, there was comfort in just being back here. The good old cane, the only companion that would support him in his time of grieve.

"I'm leaving Mrs. Hudson." John called down in hopes he wasn't truly alone. Who would have thought war would compare less to this empty pit he seemed to be carrying around for a year. The silence that followed was a disappointment.

"Ok…..pull yourself together John. Now you're talking to your bloody self." John shook his head. Right in that minute the doorbell rang, catching John off his guard. Who would bother ringing here anymore; the enigma of 221B had been destroyed and tarnished. All that was left was a skull and John, the bell rang again. The smiley on the wall mocked John to answer it.

"Who is it?" John shouted. "Mrs. Hudson is not around, she'll be back later." The bell rang again.

"I SAID MRS. HUDSON IS NOT HERE." John felt the anger boil up in him. He limped down the stairs and stood by the door. He could feel the knob, cold and metallic in his grasp.

"Would you care to buy a set of Encyclopedias." Said the posh voice from the other end of the door.

"Why would I buy an Encyclopedia when internet has one for free?" John replied. He tried to look through the crack in the door but the mysterious figure face was entirely covered. "You mean wiki, you consider that an encyclopedia" the voice snottily commented back. "Good god man I don't want to buy your books."

"I think you might want to open the door, John." Said the voice doing the best it could to convince the ex-war veteran to open the door and go against his instinct.

John was startled. How the hell did this person know his name? No one knew he had returned back to this place, except his sister and Mrs. Hudson. He had been gone almost a year.

"Is your sister still sober, and didn't I tell you you didn't need a therapist."

His fingers shook as he turned the knob.

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

As he opened the door he stood at the door amazed by the face before him.

"Sherlo...ck" The tall cloaked figure grabbed a glove hand around his mouth, pushing him into the apartment. The door too 221B Baker Street slammed promptly behind them.

Two hours later there was an update on John's blog- :)


End file.
